Hoi An makes everything slow.

I’d be much more productive staying in Saigon trying to write my thoughts down, but nature is so beautiful I’m distracted all the time. Well, to be exact, I was so immersed in the surroundings that I thought it’d be a waste to turn on the laptop and stare at the screen.

Listening to birds chirping all day, looking at trees, feeling the calm, chilled winds passing through my skin, smelling herbs in the garden, tasting the wild air becomes my everyday activity. Oh, and the beach! Being in tune with nature means you have to check the weather. The beach is only good when it’s sunny. Thus, I need to go to the beach whenever the sun is up. It’s up to God to decide when the sun will visit again. Oh, boy, my day is so full, I don’t know how to incorporate another thing.

I’m so much slower, but not as much as the people here. My Yoga teacher always has to remind me to be slow in class because I move very fast. Trying to reach the desired position as fast as possible, the teacher told me: ” Remember, it’s not about doing the pose. It’s the journey that led you to the pose.”

Salt (Moka) and Pepper (Choco) are happy. They spent most of their days hanging out in the garden, enjoying their life. Pepper knows how to dig a hole now. I saw him reserving a bone by digging a hole in the corner of the garden yesterday. I also saw him this morning taking the bone out. I felt so happy for him because he gets to be a real dog in this town.

“An trú trong hiện tại” keeps ringing in my ears every day while I am here in Hoi An. Do you know what’s the first thing the farmer does on the first day of Tết? It’s not dressing up. It’s not gathering and drinking. It’s none of the things we associate Tet with.

They went out to water their farms.

A couple of days before Tết, they were busy harvesting the flowers. They didn’t have time to water their plants. So at 5 AM on sáng mùng Một, they went out and cared for their beloved garden, the things that created life on Earth. In the field, time or day isn’t just a number on the calendar or the clock. That’s just the superficial. Time is when your garden needs water, time is when the sun is out, and you need to wash your clothes so they will dry. Time is when your flower is ready to sell at the market. So really, there’s no difference between sáng mùng Một và sáng mùng Tám, except for the universal agreement of all Vietnamese to dress nicely and give out lucky money.

It’s been ten days since I arrived here in this beautiful home in the Trà Quế area. I’ve barely touched the phone, and this is the first time I took the laptop out. It’s not because I don’t want to. On the contrary, I have so much on my mind that I need to bring into words. However, I was also drawn by the communal effects in this town. A conversation is two people sitting at the table and talking without touching their phones, thinking about other things. I must be present 100% because the people here are present with me. It’s the least of respect that I could bring to the table. In Saigon, people tend to find it normal to give half of their attention to the story, and the other half goes to their phones. Most of us Saigonese don’t listen with the intent to understand. We listen with the intent to reply. We try to fight for a place for our opinion. I think that’s why Saigon (and probably Ha Noi) is so chaotic because no one precisely knows what they should do.

This Tết is very important to my well-being. After more than 30 years of doing the same thing on the first day of New Year, which is to dress nicely, go to grandma’s house, receive lì xì money, gamble. I did something entirely different. It started with the thought of going away. I’ve planted this idea a while back, ever since I lived here three years ago. Then I made it happen by texting my mother that I won’t be visiting her on that day. Phương told me: You saw her one day over 365 days out of guilt, and the rest of 364 days you haven’t even once stepped your foot back to that alley, the reality is you were not there for a long time.

And I thought that was so true, so I leaped. I texted my mother directly that I had plans to go somewhere else, sending her some gifts. It’s the truth, not the usual covered up with a multi-layer of excuses to avoid the truth. I felt relieved, happy and content.

To me, my mother is no longer a mother to me. The loving relationship was severed a long time ago, long before I knew it, so long as in twenty years ago. What’s holding us back is just fear( from me), hatred, anger, and resentment. In our last conversation she told me: “Mẹ đẻ ra con, chứ không phải là con từ đất chui ra đâu.” I agreed with her, she’s the one who gave birth to me, that can never be changed. She’s my mother, that can never be changed. We are forever bound by this blood bond, but that’s about it. I no longer have any feelings toward her. Over the last year, I have slowly but steadily removed the fear, anger and resenement off from my shoulder and, most importantly, from my heart.

I shielded my heart away from her and subsequently away from the world. The picture above shows exactly how I felt about my heart. It’s warm and hot but covered in ice. I can never love 100% because there’s always a thin layer of ice between me and my beloved. I still remember the time when I felt so disconnected from my mother. One or two months after Dad’s passing, my mother told me to sit down and talk about her sufferings. I still remember sitting across her from the table and feeling nothing. She was crying, talking something about us as a family needs to move on, she’s okay, and I can go back to work now. At that particular moment, all I had in my head was: Oh God, can you stop with the crying? Is it done yet? Are you done yet? I don’t want to hear your rambling. I’m annoyed. Can I leave now? Why do I have to sit down and look at her crying? Oh, wait, I can go back to work now? I don’t have to be at her house every day anymore?

My face, my body, my heart was as cold as the artic ice in the North Pole. I couldn’t share this woman’s devastation and sorrow, though I am going through the same thing.

I could feel the pain from an imaginary character in the novel I read. I could cry when Sirius Black fell into oblivion, yet, I could not share any feeling with the woman sitting across me crying her heart out. I know her pain is real, and she’s probably suffering more than me, yet, her tears meant nothing to me.

For as long as I can remember, she was never my mother. She was always an enemy, an evil enemy who would attack me as soon as she had a chance. I’ve spent the better part of my life living in a war zone, with atomic bombs randomly dropped on my soul. I imagine my armor must be as thick as the amount of lead used to cover the Fukushima Nuclear plant.

The side effect of being numb to my mother’s constant attack is I also shield myself from love.

Have I told you about my relationship with music? Why did I stop studying music 15 years ago? It’s because my teacher said to me that I’m at the level that skills are no longer enough. I need to pour my heart into the song. I need to feel the music. My teacher is a very strict, old school teacher, and he wouldn’t let me pass. It was Sonate a la Lune, and I could not pass for one full year though I made everything right. That’s when I stopped practicing music altogether because I could not feel the music. At the beginning of this year, I started feeling something different. I started enjoying the beautiful angelic sound of the harp and the flute. I could practice days on end without any difficulties. I started feeling joyful when picking up the flute as I opened my laptop to begin typing to you, my imaginative reader. I can feel the music touch to my soul now, to my every essence, whenever I turn on the song Over the sea to Skye ( My current obsession)

I no longer resent my mother. She’s no longer the “witch” in my mind. She’s simply an older woman, an auntie who lost her husband and can not move on. She’s unsecured, and she needed money to feel safe. If I can, I will give her some from time to time because that’s her source of life. She needed more from me, but money was the only I could give to her.

And just like that, my heart is free. The ice cap that I thought could no longer melt disappeared overnight, giving place for a warm, beating heart. I felt like I was reborn into this world with loving-kindness with the most benevolent heart ❤️ .

22:16 8/2/2022

There are three things that I realized after being in Hoi An for almost two weeks:

One,

I couldn’t get anything done. I usually can finish a blog post every day, and it’s has been twelve days, and I only can do one. I woke up very early every day, around 5 AM. I practiced yoga, meditation, played some flute, and the days were finished just like that. The collective souls in this area woke up early and slept early. I imagine there are many people just hanging out all day long. True, I was very mindful about each and every activity I did. I could spend hours in my beautiful courtyard and daydream. I was so present, enjoying the sunshine, the trees, the grass. As a result, that means I could not get my work done ( and I didn’t).
I was like this before, back when I was working for Tripfuser. There’s a period when I didn’t get anything done for the whole month. Because I daydream, and then go to the beach. I was so in tune with the present, with real life, I felt that the work was just dull.
That makes me question the term “mindfulness,” people like Thich Nhat Hanh, who spent his life promoting such a concept, said he’s “the father of mindfulness.” That’s not true because he’s simply explaining an ideology that has been around for 3000 years. I question the validity of such a concept. Is it applicable to society? You know the activity Meditation, Yoga, practicing flute took a lot of time. I need to wake up at 5 AM to do all that before the days come.

Two,

My voice is softer, much softer, and slower. I’ve been trying to take the edge of my voice for a long time. The way I’m talking, and I can hear it all the time, it’s very sharp. It felt like a screech from guitar strings to me. I was not too fond of that about myself. It’s tiring. I found a different version of self in this town with a naturally soft and gentle voice without even trying. I wondered if it is because I only used the emotional part of the brain and was able to access it now that it’s shown in my voice. I intend to keep it that way even when I move back to the city. I think it will need some help and recharge from the beginning, but it can be done.

Three,

I don’t miss my home. That’s the strangest thing to me, because even when I’m in Saigon, I miss home every day, I can’t wait to finish my work and go home. I secretly wish that the city will go into super lockdown again so that I can stay home for a whole month because I enjoyed the time I was home so much. Living in Hoi An for the past two weeks, not even once I think of my home. I already felt like this house is my home though I lack a lot of conveniences. The only explanation that I can come up with is because this is also home. I know everybody has heard of the term: “Home away from home,” but have you truly felt it? I do, now. I could easily switch between the two places and still feel at home. Or perhaps, it’s because I brought my entire house with me here that’s why I don’t miss the other place. I have my flute, speaker, dogs, laptop, and books. That’s pretty much my life.

Of all the three things that I mentioned above, number one is my most concern. If I were to live here permanently, I could burn my life away just like day. There’s a saying: ” The life is short, but the day is long.” Unfortunately, this sentence is not applied to the people living in Hoi An. The day is also concise here, depending on the sun.